Snow in a Maiden's Heart
by BlueStarlightWriter
Summary: "He knew the promising kisses that would free the moans from her deepest fantasies, and have his name sung to the heavens before the night's end. He knew how to fill the void both mer equally and unconditionally shared. But, could he?" Gelebor x F/OC Fanfic / Smut.
1. The Enigma of Questions

Snow in a Maiden's Heart

Chapter 1: The Enigma of Questions

 _How had her life come to this?_

It was a question the young maiden so often asked herself, a thought that many would not adhere to, but for some unknown reason, it became a warring thing for her sanity to defy. The question lingered in the back of her mind for days, perhaps months without making itself known. But every so often, it would wait until she was alone and slip her mind into a rumbling parley of feuds and vendettas, that she could not so easily escape from. It was a question that so rarely found a true answer. There were many reasons why her life may have resulted in the way it had, to be sure, but the true reason was something she could never quite bring to reality.

Yet, as she glanced into the honey-coated wine of her silver cup, the bitter taste of snowberry lingering upon her tongue, she sensed that perhaps, for at least that night, she might find some reprieve from her troubled mind, if she ever could. But she knew, by the unbound mirth of her companions, huddled close to the flickering embers of a vibrant flame, that she would not find reprieve from her mind among them, for they were too deep in ale to even see the stars through the cracked panes of glass surrounding the Chantry's chapel. She needed to be alone to either think for herself, or to drink her sorrows away where they could not see her.

Slipping into the shaded corners of the high-vaulted Chantry, Iry smuggled a corked ewer of Alto Wine from the nearest stand of assortments and turned to see a parted silver door beckoning her from the other end of the chamber. Lit, it was, in the flickering shimmer of reflected light and laughing shadow, presented by figures embraced in the afterglow of a heavily wooded hearth. Sensing the need to leave, Iry proceeded to tug the restraint of her robe tight across her chest, for her fingers, usually swift and nimble, were too numb to properly form a tighter knot. The leather continued to slip through her fumbling, until she eventually managed to form a sufficient enough tie to keep the creased skirts of her heather-rimmed robe together. From there, with little sound but the occasional stumble, she slipped away from the drunken spoils and headed into the airy halls of an extinct empire.

The halls she walked were halls she had spent many a-time observing in silent study, hewn out of livingstone and clustered crystals of glistening ice. The Snow Elves where an ancient race to be reckoned with, she often remembered, when standing in the temple dedicated to their most honoured sovereign, Auri-El. It was so often simple for her to forget how important he must have been to the Snow Elves, but as she stepped through his Chantry, she began to truly recognise the once subtle depictions his followers had made for his pleasure.

The might of his power had been rendered mundane in the temple's unmoving foundations, crumbling but never bowing to the force of nature. Depicted in prayer across ceilings and shrines was his very name, laced in silver ink from a scribe's delicate fingers. His wisdom was foretold in vast scriptures of ancient knowledge, housed in archives that not even she could begin to uncover. Even in her debauched stupor, her mind remained fixed on the weathered forms of beauty and as the wind began to unfurl along the outer walls, the true beauty of the temple became known. The pale luminescence of the moons seeped through the glassy panes of the hall, casting an iridescent sheen across the marble sentinels and undulating their gleaming surfaces as if enchanted rock.

After trying to memorise the splendor she witnessed in detail, only realising shortly after that the world had become somewhat distant and unfocused, she left the halls and searched for a place she knew all too well, wandering down spiral stairways, passing gold, star-burst shrines and the cracked archways of a sundered palace, until she drew into a vast frozen world, easily viewed from what used to be the temple's Inner Sanctum. Pieces of the ceiling lay scattered around the once mighty chamber, some indented into the sanctum's studded floor. The young elf observed the stone as she wandered, staring at the still intact throne dedicated to the once living Arch-Curate, but memories of he and his motives were never a pleasant thought for her to ponder on.

She drew away from the Inner Sanctum, as beyond lay the intact remains of the temple's grand balcony, overlooking the entirety of Auri-El's kingdom.

Mounds of snow and ice cracked beneath her leather-bound feet as she steadily climbed the stairway to the overlook. Yet before peering over the edge, she gently coaxed her hood behind her pointed ears and steadied herself against the balcony's balustrade.

The night was quiet and the question returned to her mind.

 _"Was it adventure, that brought you so far?"_ she thought Masser would ask, as He, the grandest of the twin moons, gradually rose over the ice crested pinnacles of the Forgotten Vale, ready to pass into the deep glistening sky of Aetherius.

 _"Or was it the fortune promised in your lullabies as a little one, sung by bards with little coin to their name?"_

 _"Perhaps it was for freedom,"_ whispered the wind, layering the mountain peaks in fine ashes of winter frost. _"Perhaps the young lass could not stand the life her father wished for her, and journeyed to the frozen land in search of longing and comfort?"_

 _"Yet, far is she from home now, the little thing,"_ mourned the second moon, Secunda, as it took its rightful place by Masser's side. _"Far, she is, from the riches of the Imperial City, far from the warm hearths of a grand stone keep. She is far from the noble populace parading through the courts of the highest aristocracies, far from their those that begged to affiliate with her name."_

 _"Do you think she misses the attention? Misses the way noblemen would whisk to her feet, pray for her gaze to strike them?"_ the wind pondered, curling the unsteady downpours from the Vale's mighty waterfalls until the water began to rain across the snow-beaten shores along the valley.

 _"_ Nae," Iry whispered against the feud in her mind, hushing the voices if for a moment, "I do not miss that."

 _"Then why do you ask the same question, little thing,"_ Masser and Secunda asked in unison. _"Why do you seek a lie when the answer is laid as clear as crystal?"_

"I... I do not know."

Unsatisfied with her answer, or perhaps with the tone in which she had phrased it, the wind took on a sudden, sullen turn, hissing against the wintered vale. Its sturdy current drew flakes of snow from the mountaintops, stirring the edges of Iry's robes as something near alive. The Alto Wine was knocked from its stand, slipping from the balustrade before Iry's fingers could snatch it.

She waited for the inevitable crack. She stared at the white-kissed snow, expecting the bitter-sweet colour of berry to stain it. But there was no crack. There was no shatter.

"Is everything alright?" a voice of refinement did inquire, circling his gauntlets around the ewer's slender throat.

The balustrade's surface cracked under the sharp clutch of the young maiden's fingers. Part of her did not dare to peer up and answer the question. Part of her wished to simply drink deeper into the luxuries the wine offered, until she was so deep that Aetherius itself would look to be nothing more than a muddled landscape of light and clouds.

"Partaking in one of life's grandeur's, I see," the elf smiled, placing the wine gently between them. An orb of light floated slightly above his head, casting her face in cerulean light and shadow. "Though I fear your companions may have taken a little too much ale for one night."

Iry remembered her friends sat by the fire, contented to allow their intoxicated minds to wander on any conversation that took their fancy. Torr, she knew, would drink no matter the occasion. She had expected as much. Bane, however, her oldest friend from way back when, partaking in such things, was something she had not expected. Perhaps, the thought of relevant safety that they had not had for so long, influenced their merriment in such dark times? Why the unbound dremora did not often take the fancy of being intoxicated with a strong brew of dried herbs and juice was beyond her. She rarely saw him even eat, if he could.

For some odd reason, the thought of her companions enjoying themselves in warmth and comfort brought a longing to her chest, one that it seemed wine could not simply ease in all its wonder.

"I always saw you as a mer dedicated to study, never one to divulge in such things," the man continued, bracing his broad, bare arms over the balustrade's frosted edge. The Forgotten Vale lay silent and tranquil among the evening, with nary a speckle of snow raring from the heavens while in his presence.

"We all need a drink now and then to forget, Gelebor," Iry whispered, softly picking at the frost beneath her gloved fingers.

"Ah, and what is it that you are trying to forget, if I am to be so bold?"

"Tis many things," she said, reaching out and uncorking the wine before taking a brief swig of its contents. Her soft features creased at the sour taste. Alto Wine was never something she was particularly fond of. "Too many to spoil one night."

"Ah, I see."

Baring tall and proud, he peered down over the overlook as a silent observer upon the land, nestled safe in the alcove of the mountains. He frowned at sensing the subtle shift of the white-smothered evergreens while the frozen lake lay dark and still among the wake of the moons. Gelebor observed the marvel of Auri-El's craft in nature as if his hands were the molds of its creation, and his voice the force that shook the very mountains into place.

From the distance, a tiny glow of a vale-deer could just be seen, daintily slipping under the broken arch of a once mighty pillar, life thriving from it in a tangle of wilting mountain flowers. Beyond, wolves howled to the sky, but nothing was more curious to the Snow Elf then the small forms of shadow lurking beyond the Vale's boundary, for he knew there would be a time when those forms, like he, could no longer be an observer to the world, and he feared what outcome that might bring.

Sighing softly, the Snow Elf brought his gaze away from the Vale and instead tilted it to the sky.

"You know, I often came up here to think after what happened between yourselves and my brother," he whispered, observing the stars above their heads in a manner most curious. His focus shifted from one tiny sparkle to the other like candlelight, perhaps searching the heavens for Auri-El, hoping to catch a small fraction of his lord's divine grace, or perhaps he searched for a sign given to him by his brother, if to bring some small amount of peace to his mind.

Eventually, when Gelebor's thoughts returned to the present, he looked across to Iry, and was surprised to find that there was sorrow in her soft face, no doubt caused by his words. The thought of such a thing was absurd to him, as his brows met and frown set deep.

"Do not feel guilt for the departed, my friend," he said, coaxing a stray brindle hair behind one of her ears. A piece caught the sharp corner of his gauntlet, tangling itself in a hook, perhaps to keep his hand in place. The action seemed to soothe her worry, though, as her pale blue cheek leaned eagerly into his touch. "What happened to Vythur was something that could never be prevented, even if he never saw the doom his path would lead him to. I just wish Auri-El might have saved his soul before it ever came to this. All of this death was so unnecessary."

"Do you regret what we did to him?" she asked, keeping her gaze far from his reach.

The Paladin retracted his hand from her cheek, as if burned by her touch. He drew his focus to the valley, utterly still, until his hands flexed against the wall. There were parts of his armour that were chipped, broken and fractured, Iry noticed, allowing his skin to gain access to the world outside of the silver. But the skin was scarred in jagged lines, soft and crooked, from battles the young dunmer lass could only imagine. "No matter what caused his madness, be it the Betrayed or the scorn of Auri-El, he was still my brother. I prefer to remember him as how he was before the Betrayed came to the Sanctum. He was a kinder soul back then, still arrogant in his ways but... never cruel."

Sensing the growing sorrow from her fellow mer, Iry gently brought the wine to his reach. After a curious glance, the elder mer took her offer greatly, passing her the shrivelled cork before taking several large swigs of the sweet smelling substance. If the wine burned his throat, he made no reaction to it.

"So," he said, eying the oddly curved decanter rather humorously, "this is what passes for wine among the common Nords, hmm?"

Iry smiled, throwing her arm out to present her opinion to the entirety of the Vale. "That, my dear Gelebor, is the Nordic's finest! You will not believe what the Nords use for water in Skyrim."

"Ah, now I find myself curious," Gelebor chuckled, a deep throat sound that sent her heart aching beneath her breast. "What is their substitute for water?"

"Isn't it obvious?" A moment, she waited, the momentum of her jest threatening to spill, then two, until she finally exclaimed, "Mead!"

The Knight Paladin snorted, curling his lip up in a rather bemused manner. "Mead, you say?"

Iry waved a hand half-heartedly, unconsciously leaning her weight against the taller mer's muscled side. "They find drinking milk an insult to their honour."

"My, how do you manage to travel through Skyrim with such peculiar people?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea. And they think we elves are strange. Hah!"

Gelebor smiled. "It truly is a mystery."

The laughs they shared in that simple moment seemed to quake the very earth beneath their feet. The Dunmer maiden began stumble, threatening to fall back upon the jagged marble behind her before her balance returned, if by the aid of her fellow mer.

But as the mirth of their discussion gradually passed into the shadows of the eve, Iry's mind found itself wandering back to that question, one that she had hoped would have left her to rest if for a little while. Peering up at the mer by her side, she slowly began to realise how trusting she felt towards him, despite knowing her fellow companions a little longer. Gelebor was so unlike any elf she had ever met, refined and wise unlike many elders she had the displeasure of knowing throughout her short life.

Perhaps it was due to him being of a dying breed. She had met many common elves in her time, from her Dunmer kin, known by the colour of their skin - often referred to as dead or kindled ash; to the Bosmer, tanned as the woodlands they harboured in all their natural splendor. She recalled her interactions with the Orismer, if they could be counted among the elven populace, for they were brutish in combat and life as any thug she had the misfortune in coming across, with tusks forming unsightly ridges in their appearance. And then there was the Altmer, sun-kissed from their head to their feet, with a superiority to rival no other.

But the only species she knew that could be claimed as Snow Elf or Falmer was that of the twisted, blind beasts that lurked within the bowels of the grand, metal kingdoms that once belonged to the lost race of Dwemer, perhaps the children of Gelebor's long missing kin.

Yet as she looked up upon the snow-haired elf, as flecks of frost seemed to cover the exposed skin of his arms and the rose-coloured tips of his long, pristinely angled ears twitched in anticipation of her next spoken words, she could not help but notice that despite their physical differences, they were alike in so many ways.

He valued respect, honour and tradition. He held a set of morals that so few in Skyrim could fathom. And he was kind. That in itself was a rarity. From their first conversation alone, she knew he was different.

Met, they first had, within the far reaches of the Forgotten Vale, when Iry had first taken on the quest of aiding a wayward vampire steeped in royal blood, if to see where such an adventure would take her, especially with the Archmage of the College of Winterhold leading their expedition. Their search for an answer to their plight led to their venture into Darkfall Cave, where she eventually met the Knight Paladin, whom was tentatively tending to a wayshrine formed in a starburst cut. They had struck up an accord upon their meeting - Iry and her fellows would receive what they had tirelessly searched for, if they dealt with Gelebor's long estranged brother, Vythur, whom had locked himself within the Chantry of Auri-El's Inner Sanctum for over a thousand years.

Little did they know that the reason for their quest was from the Knight Paladin's elder brother, whom had lost his sanity to the vampiric strain gifted to him by one of his own initiates. Iry Velori had never meant to end the life of the ancient mer, but, regretfully, had little choice but to fight until the Snow Elf's body fell still against the cold stone of the Inner Sanctum. She remembered him so clearly, like a curse, as he had lain ungracefully upon the ground amongst the forms of his fallen, twisted brethren, not far from where she now stood.

She knew the end of their quest proved difficult for the Knight Paladin. No matter what he intended to believe, the creature Iry aided in murdering was still in some way his brother, and losing family, no matter what the circumstance, was always a feat that could never truly be recovered.

"Ever since I left Cyrodiil, I've had this question inside my mind," Iry began, twiddling her fingers around the half-chipped wine cork, straining to make her voice heard. "Tis a peculiar sort of question, this question, one that seems to plague me to no end. I was told, once, back when I was an apprentice within the College of Winterhold that, _'Your mind learns through riddles, lies and conjecture. You seek that which is lost to you, for it, like you, is lost in itself. You seek meaning, shelter in knowledge, but without a clear mind, you will never find peace'._ Tis been on my mind ever since."

"The man who told you this sounds very wise."

The maiden gave a gentle nod. "The wisest."

Noticing her lapse into quietness, the Snow elf tried to encourage her continuation, but it was as if he was met with a sullen wall of courtesy, stubborn in nature yet a little yielding. That was, until he asked, "And that is what troubles you so?"

"Not just that, but one of them," she said, bowing her head. "I left my home to be away from the burden of responsibility, from my family and from the influence my family name held among the Imperials in Cyrodiil. I came to Skyrim to begin anew. That was the idea. Maybe twas not the best idea, but it suited me just fine. Bane, you see, came with me from Cyrodiil with an envoy of hired mercenaries. My father trusted him, even though he was practically an abomination walking upon the land. It took a little longer for him to earn my trust, but eventually he did. You see, Bane and my father had known each other for many years, and I suppose Bane having spent the majority of his unbound freedom within Skyrim for over a hundred years had its benefits when venturing there. But we parted ways for a time while I searched for the College of Winterhold to begin my studies in the Arcane. Once I had made my stay there, he found me in the Arcanaeum. I still have no idea how he got into the College without arousing suspicion, but I suppose that is one of the many mysteries no scholar would ever be able to unravel."

"And what of the Betrayed that walks amongst your group?" Gelebor asked, his tone rising in curiosity.

"You mean Torr, yes? My very sarcastic, very close guarded mer friend?" The Snow Elf nodded. "Remember when I mentioned an envoy of hired mercenaries on my way into Skyrim? Well, the mercenaries, Bane and myself were drawn away from any roads near the border after a storm had come in hard from the north. We took refuge in a nearby cave, but I should have known something was not right with it. The walls were too wet, like a torch had burned the ice away and there was this terrible tremble from the stone, as the underground shook beneath our frozen feet. It was a cave that held within it the lost fragments of a Dwemer outpost, and where there was Dwemer, the Betrayed do not stalk far behind. In the middle of the night we were taken, dressed in rags and locked in cages of gold and iron. I was separated from everyone else, and Torr happened to be my only company."

"He was imprisoned with you?"

"Yes. What was more surprising was finding out that he knew how to speak fluent Tamrielic. He never did tell me how he learned it, nor did he say how he learned to be different from his brethren. What I did find out was that any hint of difference in his race was instantly shunned. His spine, if you ever see it beneath his armour, is curved, yet he can almost stand to full height and walks like we do. His muscles are not as thin as those of his brothers and his skin seems to have adapted well to the light of the world above ground. He may still be blind. He may still hold the scrunched appearance that will forever mark him as an outcast, but his heart and intellect are the main features, I believe, that drove his brothers away from him. He isn't bloodthirsty like them and is better in wielding magic to that of a bow or poorly crafted axe. In a way, I am glad he was shunned from his people, for if he hadn't helped us escape from that hell of a cave, I fear I would not be here with you today."

His eyes were on her for quite sometime, quiet in silent study on a creature that he had wondered about ever since he saw him. Then came a question she had not expected, and caused her to shift from one foot to another rather uncomfortably. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?"

"He saved my life, Gelebor," she said without hesitance. "I can never repay that debt, nor that of Bane for doing the very same on many other occasions. They are both family to me. Tis rare that I ever find comfortable companionship among my friends."

"I understand. Close companionship is a rarity among this world, it seems. But once found, it is a treasure worth hoarding." He seemed pleased with her answer, no longer observing her with a worry she could practically sense in the air. Gelebor let out a wary sigh, clouding the air before his next breath. "And what did you do after that, if I might ask? How did you end up finding a lonely snow elf among Auri-El's forgotten vale?"

"Tis not so simple to answer that question," she muttered softly. "There were many choices that I had that may not have led up to this. There were many possibilities. I had the option of making a home here. My father had arranged for me to buy a piece of land in the Pale from the Jarl in Dawnstar, and from there I could begin whatever life suited my fancy. Life, if seemed, had other ideas for me, and so I found myself adventuring with enough coin to retire for five centuries, if I so chose."

"That does not sound like such a terrible life to me," he said.

Her shoulders slumped. "I left my home to be free of responsibility, and I find myself servicing the role of scholar in Ancient Falmer Artifacts and Dwemer Lore for the College of Winterhold, a vampire hunter among the Dawnguard if Isran can find redemption in my choice in becoming that which he despises, and I have a responsibility to my friends. For the choice to have a free life, I have not done as well as I had hoped."

Iry felt a weight on her shoulder. When she looked up, she was met with a soft smile and a warm, proud-baring gaze, and the hard silver of his hand against the thick fur pauldrons of her robe. "My friend, but you are free. The burden you have acquired over time is a burden you founded yourself, and not necessarily an ill one. No matter where you go, be it far into the snow-capped mountains or into the vast oceans beyond this land, responsibility will always find you. But that responsibility is yours, no one else's, not thrust upon you by the heiring titles of a sire, nor the respect of those that follow that title. You did create a life here, that is your own. Do not weep for the life you hear in mere stories, for your story is far greater in the making."

Her eyes shifted between his in the night, glazing over with sorrowful relief that threatened to fall, yet did not. "I... Thank you, Gelebor. I had never thought of it like that."

The elder mer merely smiled, releasing his hold from her shoulder and wringing the cuff of his armour with his other hand. "Anytime, my friend," he said, peering back towards the Inner Sanctum. "I fear I have overstayed my welcome. You came here to be alone with your thoughts, I assume? No doubt my missing presence would have no effect of your debauched fellows for the night, but perhaps my return might kindle some recollection, hmm?" He gave a small bow. "Farewell. May Auri-El grant you a fair and peaceful night."

The Knight Paladin of Auri-El turned to leave, but just as he managed to take a step out, he felt a pull in the crook of his left elbow. There, clutched in the corner and holding him in place was Iry's hand, with her fingers curled tightly around his arm. The elder mer faltered in his steps, looking back at her with one eyebrow arched.

Iry's mouth parted. She stared at the action her hand had made, as still as the icicles that surrounded them. Obviously she had not meant to cease his leave, and yet...

"Y-you do not need to leave, if you do not wish to go."

Gelebor lightly licked his lips, searching their linked touch for some type of answer.

"If you wish to speak more," he said tentatively, "you need only ask."

"I know that," she replied, curling her fingers further around his arm. "I... I suppose I have missed your company. The months my friends and I have travelled without meeting you here were hard. The Forgotten Vale is so often far from our travels. I rarely ever get to see you."

"I understand."

She frowned, tilting her head to one side. "You do?"

"Of course," he stated, but his defensive tone caused her fingers to shrink a little from his skin. "You fear that my isolation is in some part your doing, and feel guilt towards our parting. Do not fear. This isolation is my choice and I am more than capable of coping with it. I had spent many years in solitude before we first met, after all."

"Tis not just that. There's something more." Iry glanced between the engravings on his silver-plated chest, searching the symbols on his armour for any way to relay her words in a more clear manner without heat rising to her cheeks. "I'd wish more, but that'd be selfish of me."

Gelebor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I miss your company. And more than just your company," she muttered, breath hitching at the end as hope welled within her arching chest. Gelebor's hands slowly fell around her, hesitant and still in the beginning, just barely touching the small of her back.

The ancient eyes of ice and snow landed on a maiden's, tinted heather, warily. While hers, innocent and bright beneath the frayed strands of dark hair, searched for the affection she, for so long, yearned from him. She chewed the dryness from her lip, thinking of the words she wished to say, before clearing the stuttering nerves from her throat. "We have been here before, Gelebor. You know how I feel for you."

"Ah." It was all he could utter. The sound in many ways could be interpreted differently. Many would see it as rejection, but Iry sensed the hesitation in the arms that wrapped her in his warmth. She saw the nervous flicker in his eyes in the dim light of the moons, and the bare whisper that could call her soul from her body to blend with his.

 _This cannot be real._

Emboldened, Iry narrowed the distance between them, placing one hand on the cold metal of his chest plate and the other on the ivory satin of his cheek. She whispered his name, overlaid with promises of bliss and affection. So tempting, she was to the elder mer, so deliciously tempting.

He leaned down, if by a little, to test the waters of their union, to see if what she truly proposed was not a manner of his own delusional imaginings. The hairs on the nape of her neck shifted when his breath whispered upon her skin, wracking shivers through her body that the Snow Elf took to being the frigid tinge in the air. But, when she leaned in, the soft scent of lavender reaching his long drawn nose, he realised, fingers imbedded into the soft velvet of her tangled hair, that their hearts pumped with the same feeling. The nights had been so long for her as of late. Her body ached for the comfort of his hand, and his longed for her breath.

He pulled away on the realisation of his thoughts, forcing her feet to stumble backward and expression to twist from one of longing to that of bewilderment.

"I-Iry," he stuttered, holding her in place at arm's length, "you are intoxicated. T-this is not wise-"

"You do not feel the same, do you?" she asked, and he could see the shine in her eyes dim.

The Snow Elf gently cupped her cheek, stroking the sharp indent of her cheekbone lovingly with the soft surface of his thumb. "My dear, how could you believe that the fault is with you? You are a remarkable woman. Any mer would be fortunate to hold your affections."

"Then why not you? Is it because I am a vampire?"

His thumb stilled against her jaw and tilted her chin up. Frowning slightly, he said, "You know I do not hold any judgement towards your decision. What you are has no effect on my opinion towards you. Any part of you, no matter what, is valued to me."

"Then, what is it?" she asked, her voice near to breaking. "Each time I try for your affections, I am rejected once again."

The arch between his brows twitched momentarily before his face fell ever more sad. "I never meant to cause you pain. You know that."

"Do I?" she asked, her voice far away, tainted by the ache in her heart and the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks.

"For over a thousand years, I have pledged my life in servitude to Auri-El, to protect this Chantry and its wayshrines until I die," Gelebor explained, silencing her quivering lips with a single kiss. It lasted barely a moment and was no heavier than the beating of a month's wing upon a flower petal. Iry tried to follow his lips when they parted, but Gelebor kept the young Dunmer in her place by her shoulders, refraining her from pressing the matter further until he had an attempt to speak. "There has been nothing else but my sacred duty since the Chantry turned to ruin. You... you must understand. I cannot violate my duty for the sake of small acts of affection or comfort. You are free to come and go from the Chantry as you please. I hold no such choice. If word got to me that something had happened to you, that you had fallen in battle or were stricken with an illness... I am not sure I would know what to do, or if my duty to Auri-El would remain."

Rubbing a cold hand against his brow, he continued. "Your affections would only be a distraction to my duty. That is not something I am sure I can allow. And I am an old mer. I have seen too many years pass to be with one such as you. I have lived my life and made my choices without regret. You must do the same."

understanding, in its heavy force, gradually fell upon her. The future that could be had between them would never be complete. Responsibility and duty prevented it. He would be forever bound to the vale until his life came to an end. She had the freedom to come and leave, but she could never stay for truly long periods of time. Her calling was that of the College, of the young mages that sought her guidance and the duties she had pledged to the Dawnguard. There would be love and there would be heartbreak. Gelebor only wished to prevent the latter from happening.

"I-I understand," she whispered, but her hands began to tremble against his armour. He felt the vibrations, brought his hands out to hold hers. She stared at them, then pulled away. "I apologise. T'was selfish of me. I should have realised. Auri-El means everything to you."

In that moment, she had hardened her heart to a cutting edge and he fared the worse for it. Gelebor reached out once more, bracing his arms around hers, but she slipped away, stepping backwards until her back hit the balustrade. Snatching the ewer from its stand and taking the last few sips of wine, she threw the bottle over the balcony and relished in the distant crack of shattered glass.

From there, she did not look back. Shrouding her face from view, she began to descend the balcony's steps towards the Inner Sanctum. Before her feet touched the bottom step, she felt the weight of a force holding her back. The arms of her friend wrapped around her stomach, tugging her away from her intended destination until her back was flat against his armoured chest.

Breath but a caress over her right ear, chilling and gentle, he whispered, "But, so do you. Matter, I mean. Truly, I cannot express the feelings I hold for you. But they are dear to me, as is you companionship."

Iry gently turned to face him, smoothing her hands along his arms for a few moments before stroking his jaw. She looked up, eyes close in search of an answer, but the answer she wished was one he could not so easily provide. The solemn shift of regret was all she could find.

He leaned down, softly nuzzling her hair.

Broken and shivering, she shrunk further into his tight embrace as if the stars themselves would take her away from him. "Then, what should we do, Gelebor?"

Hiding her face in his armour, a mass of brown hair and hood shaking against the silver, he combed soothing fingers down her back, humming a near-silent tune that had brought him comfort on many nights alone.

Beneath the entanglement of armour and tears, he heard her whisper, "Do you even care for my affection?"

There was a sudden twitch in his hold. Gelebor's arms tightened up to the point that it was nearly uncomfortable. He then took a step back, observing the young maiden's startled face before him with little more than absolute shock in his own, before slowly shaking his head. "Do not believe for a moment that your affection holds no meaning to me, Iry. Do you understand?"

"Then why do you toy with me? Am I no more than a moth to you? Constantly chasing light without a care, only for the light to disappear and reappear so many times t-that it becomes unbearable a-and confusing! Why can't you give me an answer, Gelebor? If you do not want me, then tell me that. Do not toy with my emotions any longer. Tis misery. Please, tell me. What should we do?"

The elder mer spied the red smear of wine staining her ashen lips, warily licking his own in turn. The question for a moment was lost to him, as he fought the temptation to taste the wine from her skin. "Tempting, you are."

A dull gleam kindled in the old mer's eyes as his gaze trailed down the young Dunmer's cloaked form. It was as if he had never truly seen her womanly until then. And yet, as his focus roamed her curves, imagining the subtle beauty held beyond such magely garments, a sense of honour refrained his hands from moving. He could not touch the places he knew would mask the smear of red from her lips with a set of white, nibbling teeth. He knew the light, nimble caresses that would send her fingers raking the bare of his back in pleasured bliss, but could not practise it. He knew the promising kisses that would free the moans from her deepest fantasies, and have his name sung to the heavens before the night's end. He knew how to fill the void both mer equally and unconditionally shared. But, could he?

"Yes," he said with a calm he did not feel, staring narrowly into the ground beneath their feet. "What should we do?"

...

 _Thank you to everyone who has read this little chapter for a small short story I am doing for an original character of mine and the NPC Gelebor belonging to Bethesda's Elder Scrolls universe. This is just a rough draft that I've been working on for a while. I hope it is okay. I'll be updating it every so often, but only to correct spelling mistakes or to add a little bit of detail to some less detailed areas._

 _This short story was designed to be a one shot, but I am thinking of distributing it between three or four chapters. I fell in love with the character of Gelebor in Skyrim and cannot believe the lack of love there is for him! I just knew I had to write something with this character in. But until the second chapter is written, thank you for reading and please leave a comment! I love reading feedback from readers._


	2. The Securities of Wine

Snow in a Maiden's Heart

Chapter 2: The Securities of Wine

The delicate essence of desire lingered beyond the gentle snowfall. It swayed in a current of sweetened ale fumes and quandary looks, shared in longing between the still quiet mer held in each other's arms.

Iry's fingers gently traced waves into the her loved one's armour, inscribing the scriptures of her heart in solemn silence. His, in turn, tugged the coarse wool of her robes, bundling the fabric in his palms and interlacing the excess between his fingers. But nervousness wove their voices mute. It became a nearly unfeasible thing to part their lips and speak the melody lacking in the void, and yet each elf waited, impatiently, for the other to advance... to speak, to whisper, to caress, while the shimmering light of magic above dispelled the dark from them.

Yet as the bitter nip of the vale reached the young maiden's cheek, twitching her ears and frosting her breath, her befuddled mind managed to find some relevant clarity. Her face tilted to the side, hair layering her left side blind, the other glistening in cerulean light. Closing her heather-lit eyes, she lifted her chin and graced his lips in a tender momentary kiss.

Such a gentle act brought with it the need for contact. Stood, they did, in utter serenity as lips layered lips, practising a dance that came as natural to them as drawing breath. Iry's arms curled around the back of Gelebor's neck, idly stroking the short prickly hairs held at the nape. He brought her into his warmth, his hands firmly crossed around the small of her back; teeth nipping her lip.

Their moment of bliss was brief, however, for the need to steady themselves after the loss of breath became too much. Slowly parting, their intended distance did not last, for their arms remained tight around one another, and noses softly nudged.

"Please let us have this night," she pleaded to him, but more so to Aetherius and beyond, hailing the audience of Auri-El himself, for He held the devotion of her lover and only He could decide where their love in fate could reside.

"One night would not be enough, I fear," Gelebor whispered back, tracing her scarred cheek with a delicate hand, caressing her skin as if she was fragile glass. And from his breath, the air between them turned from the smell of damp and cold to tasting of mint and snowberry. "You are worthy of so many more. No one, be it man or mer, should disgrace you in such a way. You deserve better."

"I have better," she said with a smile, soothing her hand along the strong line of his jaw. "I have you. I would never stand in the way of your duty, Gelebor. I know how much your devotion means to you." She lifted his chin and his eyes opened up, peering down at her in a shine of larimar laced in satin. "But I cannot bare to see you in this chantry alone. Tis a terrifying thought, tis it, to think of you as such."

"It's a life I have chosen for myself-"

"But not one you need to walk through alone. Not any longer, if you will have me."

The Snow Elf stood before her, perplexed. Searching her eyes for any sort of falsehood, lie or conjecture, he frowned at only seeing what he certainly did not expect... love.

"For over the thousands of years I have stood as the Chantry's sentinel, there has been very little that could surprise me," he said quietly, near disbelieving. Then, a small, amused smile graced his lips. "That was until you. Perhaps, in my many years here, I have been rewarded for my loyalty, for only Auri-El could bring someone such as you to me in such dark times."

The Snow Elf gradually leaned down and once again claimed the young maiden's lips in a kiss so sweet, it brought a muffled moan to light. Iry entangled her fingers, twisting them as Gelebor's arms enclosed around her - one circling her waist and the other holding her higher back in place. The warmth of their passion, their trembling fingers and heated moans distracted them from the ever-growing snowfall raring from the heavens, until Iry's body began to shake and quiver.

"P-perhaps... we should go back inside," she suggested between kisses, only briefly feeling her lover nod in understanding. He parted their antics for a moment, keeping his hand on the small of her back. "I would suggest my bedroll but I believe my friends may still be awake."

"I can assist you in that regard," he said, ears tinted pink. "May I?"

As the wind forced itself down the mountainsides, layering the sanctum's balcony in white and grey, Iry took Gelebor's hand and followed him from the overlook, through the Inner Sanctum and into the heart of the Chantry.

Deep in its halls, Iry observed in quiet the faded grey mosaics that passed them by. There was a turn she had expected him to take, one that would have led them to familiar shrines and arches. But he seemed to have another idea in mind, passing the corner completely, leading her through a corridor of glaciers before showing her parts of the Chantry she had never seen before.

It was his home, once. It shouldn't have surprised her that there was more to the Chantry than the ice-covered covens that she had managed to slip into. The Chantry had always seemed bigger than the few halls she had managed to find.

When Gelebor released her hand, pressing his own to one intricately preserved wall, he stepped back and watched in pride in how the wall began to shimmer and distort. Humming in a chime of an ancient divine spell, the wall shook the hall, the radiance ebbing into the stone while the wall itself gradually receded into the ground.

Never had she thought that there would be chambers sealed with forgotten magic, only to be accessed by one of Auri-El's devoted.

'If anything happened to the Knight Paladin,' she thought, pity furrowing her brows and lowering her gaze, 'such wonders would truly be lost forever.'

"You have nothing to fear, my dear," Gelebor called from the newly resurrected hall, the vast echo of his voice sounding godly in her ears. He extended his hand, smiling when she could not pry her eyes away from the black resting behind him. "If you'd please follow me, there is much I wish to show you."

At first glance, the passage seemed to be nothing more than a tangle of blackness, snuffing out any light that dared near it. Yet as the two mer gradually wandered through, a spectacular thing happened. The passageway's length became lit, wrought by tamed orbs of crackling starlight that tinged the air with a tingling ozone smell.

Placing her hand in his, Iry could not prevent the level of excitement that enveloped her, adding an enthusiastic prance in her step that had the elder mer chuckling beneath his breath. Instead of her following him, their roles had reversed, with Gelebor finding it difficult to maintain a consistent stride when all Iry did was scamper ahead, grinning ear to ear, throwing incoherent questions into the night.

The passage was more pristine than the others she had witnessed, with stairways, statues, murals and even banners fluttering along the high arched ceilings. From grey to blue the halls did flush, and she found her spare hand floating along the slender columns of carven stone in a trance.

When they reached a stairway, delving down its curve until meeting the under-croft, the mer were met with many stone archways, all locked by great silver doors. Iry spied the locked chambers warily, part of her itching to pry the locks free and take a glance at the history held within and another, more cautious part of her, wishing to leave the spectres of the ancients be, for the hall still seemed to be filled with their echo.

"This was originally where the initiates and paladins kept their quarters," spoke Gelebor softly. "As you have seen, most of the Chantry did not fare well to the ravages of time, but this part fared far better than others. Strange. Now I come to think of it, I cannot fault the irony in how mine is the only chamber still standing, as though I was destined to be the only sane dweller here. The majority of the others have been left to ruin."

There was so much despair there. Iry could feel it in her gut. The memories of the dead had seeped far into the temple's infrastructure and was so deep that it warped its very bones. The smallest creak caused the young mer's fingers to tingle in unsettled magic while her feet subtly shifted, begging her to flee.

"Which one is yours?" she asked, affectionately squeezing his hand. Drawing in a deep breath, she willed her nervousness to leave her. As excited as she always was when spying ruins of an ancient past, there were a few rare occurrences that left her apprehensive, sensing the bad omens waiting to happen.

Gelebor responded with a small smile, leading her to the farthest chamber, which in its array of silver-laced designs, seemed to beckon them to it. Pressing a flat hand against its side, the door shook, groaning until its standstill.

Stepping inside, Iry's mind became riddled in excitement and expectation. If the newer part of the Chantry had remained so well preserved, how had her Snow Elf's bed chamber? What lay inside?

'A silver-carved feather-bed draped in flowing silk, perhaps?' she mused as her mind conjured up fantasy upon fantasy, remembering the dreams she had after reading Ancient Falmer tomes. Or, perhaps, what awaited her were paintings of her Knight of Auri-El poised valiantly upon a shining steed, battling the ancient Nords in Mythic times. Golden candelabras, rows of cherished bookcases and rugs of the whitest fur should have been a definite reality, and lastly, she envisioned a smouldering hearth imbued in bright flame, kindled with the finest sycamore trees, racked with venison meat roasting above it. She could practically smell the burning timber on the air and the ashy essence of cooked meat.

Most of her fantasies had the obvious sentiments of home, and how she missed the warmth of a proper fire. It was not that she hated the cold, in truth she loved the gentle flakes of frost, but even she could only take so much before her body fell ill.

"You have been sleeping here?!"

Gelebor glanced back, one brow raised.

Expectation fell off the Chantry's balcony and drowned in the icy river.

Eerie, her Snow Elf's chamber did feel, as the wind beyond whistled through the cracks of a bronze, half-parted window frame that braced the room against the elements. The fur rugs she had envisioned where entirely there, but not in a lavish display of complexly-sewn patterns as most rugs she had seen. Instead, the rugs on the floor were of veil bears, their fur black and striped in fluorescent violet and emerald, lighting a path towards the end of the chamber. Incredibly, there was a bed there. It was feather-stuffed, lain across a wide slat of ruined stone with a starburst banner flaring above it. To its left, a desk, holding a small, silver candlestick with five arms branching out and an assortment of reading material, piled in a tight-bound tower. A golden chest lay at the bed's foothold, a washbasin stood idle near many broken bookcases, lanterns cast wavy glimmers against the dark of the walls, and in the far corner stood an escritoire, adorned in sealed parchments and memoirs inscribed in elegant curves.

Truly, she had expected more, but what she saw, in its own way, was something that did not disappoint.

Stepping further into the room, the Snow Elf slowly turned towards his companion, smiling at her while rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been here for several months since my prior residence in Darkfall Cave. Vrythur's reign and the Betrayed's sheer numbers prevented my return. It is good to be back."

Glancing around, a thought crossed the elder mer's mind. He quickly gathered the odd parchments scattered across the floor and settled them on a partly bare table. "I'm afraid it is in a poor state of affairs," he said, returning to full height. "Had I'd known that I would be hosting company, I would have been more accommodating."

Iry chuckled, placing her hand on Gelebor's arm and shaking her head. "Tis perfect."

"I'm glad you think so."

He saw the way she gazed at him, eyes wide, a plump bottom lip bitten under a line of pearl teeth, eagerness resonating from her in waves. The Snow Elf's throat suddenly became still, dry, unwilling to voice the thoughts he wished to. Clearing said throat, he gestured to a casket of winery held in a uniquely crafted bookcase and asked, "I- would you like some wine?"

Iry's smile faded, replaced by a parted mouth and an uncertain stare. "You have wine?"

That brought a glimmer of hope to his heart. Smirking, Gelebor walked over to the bookcase and drew from it a sterling bottle, branded in a foreign language. Taking a goblet from the shelf, he began to pour the dark contents into the silver cup, observing the flow of liquid as it slowly began to fill its vessel. "We may have been priests, my dear, but even Snow Elves partook in slight intemperance from one time or another. And being here for sometime, you find that wine does have its benefits, time being meaningless in some cases."

"Does time really mean that little to you?"

"I fear it is when you reach the age I have," he said with a sigh, frowning when the goblet became full. "But does it not all elves?"

"I'm sorry?"

Handing her the full goblet, the Knight Paladin turned his back to fill his own cup, elaborating when the wine began to pour. "I'm afraid my knowledge on other races is quite limited. I know of your race of course, and a few that still walk Tamriel, but our archives in this temple were mostly of deities, wars and teachings. Little here tells of other races, apart from my own. If you would care to enlighten me?"

The young Dunmer's gaze drifted into the glistening ripples of her wine, her reflection peaking above the waves. She saw herself, truly saw herself and her words fell short. "There... is not much to tell. Truthfully, I preferred studying your culture to that of my own, since I was born in Skyrim and not in Morrowind."

Gelebor frowned. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Supposedly. My father met my mother a century or so before the Red Year."

"The Red Year? What does that mean?"

"You didn't know?" she asked, surprised. "Twas an exemplary catastrophe. Some say the earth's quake could be felt across the seas. Morrowind's main mountain, Vardenfell, erupted. It had done so many times before, if I understand correctly, but this time, twas grander. I hear ash is still raining on the mainland in such a force that much of the island is uninhabitable, even to the native Dunmer."

For a moment, an expression of deep sadness fell across Gelebor's face. "That... I'm sorry for that."

The Dunmer merely shrugged, circling the wine in her hand, watching the red stain the silver. "I was not there. It didn't hurt my family so it is simply history to me. And not truly one I care for."

"Ah. I see."

"I didn't mean it harshly," she said, taking a sip of her wine. The taste faltered her next words. Licking her lips, savouring the taste on her tongue, the urge to drink more became nearly overwhelming. The wine did not taste of wine, but berry juice. There was no bitter tang that had her feeling ill or sickly, but a pleasant, light-headed sensation, as if waking one winter's morn after a well rested slumber. After another sip, her fingers began to tingle and her thoughts drifted to the Dunmer she so easily slandered.

"I feel pity for them," she whispered, despair tinting her voice, "I do, but compared to other races, the Dunmer haven't fared that bad. Your race deserves my sympathy. The Nords drew your people to near extinction. The Dwemer, from what I have gathered, were cruel, so cruel."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gelebor tense. He had some idea of what his kin may have gone through at the hands of the under-dwelling dwarves. The evidence to their 'hospitality' were present in the blind beasts of the underground cities. But he never truly saw the horrific machines she had when in her travels, to see what the Dwemer actually did to his people in order to lead to their present state.

"But, as I was saying, my father made a living as a scholar. He left Morrowind during his youth to venture through Skyrim's ancient ruins in the hope of discovering their secrets."

"A trait passed down to you, I take it?"

"Yes!" she laughed, observing her fellow mer partaking in the luxuries of heightened spirits. The wine did not seem to have much affect on him as it did her. In fact, his demeanour had calmed immensely. The elder mer folded his arms and leaned back against the bookcase, observing her movements carefully when the goblet was brought to his lips, but the wine never taken.

"I suppose my adventurer's heart was inherited from him. My mother was a sorceress, you see, partaking in the teachings of destruction and alteration magic in Winterhold. My father wished to know more in Nordic culture and wandered to the College of Winterhold to find scriptures on untouched ruins. They met, fell in love. They never went into any details, such as if she went on any of his adventures, but eventually my father travelled to Cyrodiil, leaving my mother to complete her studies while he made a life for himself. He happened upon a Nordic burial chamber a few years later. Inside, it held more riches then he had ever seen. It turned out to be an old pirate's treasure horde, lost to time until he happened upon it. That was how he made his fortune. As my mother moved to Cyrodiil, her inquiries into politics and her overall skill in magic quickly accelerated her position as a mage until she was one of the high-ranking mages of the Synod Council. But, it seems my family's curse is finding other race's culture far more interesting than our own. All I know about Dunmer specifically is that my people worship Daedric Princes, kept slaves once upon a time and are as ill tempered as an amorous mammoth. Nothing so prideful as your own."

"Even the Snow Elves had a lapse in moral standing once, you know," Gelebor said, pushing himself from the bookcase and reaching for more wine. "It was only when we found the deities and their light upon Nirn that we realised we could choose to be more, becoming the proud and prosperous race we were before our downfall."

"I doubt that will happen with my people. Centuries of belief rarely ever loses its tradition. But to answer your question. The natural lifespan for my people is around four hundred years. I'm only thirty five at the moment."

The clang of silver resonated off the walls, striking a pain through Iry's ears. She cursed, touching the outer shell of her ear before staring at her friend, her grimace falling into a frown at his frightened stance. Clutched, were his fists against the shelves of the bookcase, until he slowly bent down and picked the dripping goblet up from the floor. "Thirty five? Is that how many few years you have been on this world?"

Tilting her head to the side, Iry nodded. "Yes?"

"You are but a child," he whispered, placing the goblet carefully on a shelf. Arching his shoulders forward, the Knight Paladin carefully turned, facing her with as much calm as he could muster. "And what age does a Dunmer reach adolescence?"

"Twenty, Gelebor," she sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow. "You have no need to fear."

"I see."

"I believe Altmer live longer lives," she said, hoping to lighten the mood. "I heard a rumour that one lived to a thousand a fifty!"

Gelebor blinked. "And that is of great age?! My, how times have changed."

"How old are you?"

Scoffing, the elder mer pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly. The points of his ears twitched once, twice, until the cause of his annoyance was too much to take. Strolling to the far side of the chamber, off to the bronze pane shielding the outside from them, he took hold of the frame and slid a bolt into place, instantly silencing the mournful whimpers of the wind. Returning to her, arms still folded across his armour, he gave a stiff groan that was meant to be a chuckle and said, "Ancient it seems by your standards of longevity."

There were wrinkles on his face, deep grooves that reminded the Dunmer of old ivory bark. By his brow there was might and wisdom, the lines set only by the countless struggles he had faced. By his mouth, the cause of the lines was from smiling, laughing and joy, a radiance that did not need a light to shine. But by his eyes sunken hollows did dwell, circled and bruised, from the worries of a recently harsh life. There was youth in his twitching muscles, though, that instantly kindled a flame in her heart, his shallow breath, his piercing and roaming gaze.

"You do not appear that old," she said, breaking the distance between them with one steady stride.

"I shall take that as a compliment." Candles flickered against the dark, highlighting the angles of each other's features. A subtle silence fell across the bed chamber and neither elf could prevent the tension that quickly matched it.

Gelebor was the first to speak, casting his hand out to stroke her cheek. She could not help but shudder under his touch, but the feeling was definitely not unwelcome. "We need not rush this, my dear. If you would rather sleep tonight, that would be enough for me."

Frowning, Iry asked, "Do you not wish more?"

"I would be lying if I said that I hadn't thought of doing other things this night, before my mild scare" he said, gazing low to the swell of skin beneath her low-cut robe. Licking his lips, he continued, "But I am an honourable man. I would not lay with you under false pretenses and you are not in the wisest state of mind to be making decisions."

Her gaze lowered to his armour, where the candlelight played in shimmering reflections. It was true. She was not in the best state of mind. Her gaze was unfocused, she could barely hold herself straight, unconsciously leaning onto the taller mer for support. He caught her before she could lean further into him, bracing his arms tight around her. Smelling the wine of her breath, he added, "We always have the morning, my dear. Perhaps rest is what we both need. Today has been very long."

"We'll be fine though," Iry whined, pulling the fabric of his collar to nip and kiss the delicate skin on his neck.

Gelebor closed his eyes, revelling the feel of her soft skin against his, kneading her robe without truly realising it. That was until the kisses began to get lighter and lighter until completely ceasing. All at once, the force of her body fell upon him and Gelebor had little time to prevent her from falling to the floor.

Staring down at the unconscious maiden in his arms, he could not help but frown in concern. But when her breathing became even and a small moan escaped her, he smiled. Gently placing the sleeping Dunmer upon his bed, he began to tuck the furs close to her form, careful when she stirred until the cold was prevented from claiming her. He, in turn, removed his armour, layer by layer, before returning to the same bed, only pausing in his movements to observe her out of the corner of his eye.

 _Whether she wished to continue things with him would be her choice by dawn,_ he decided, _but for the night he would let her sleep, for he did not wish their union to be one she would later come to regret._

 _..._

Thank you to VotePenguins03, Aeluin & Kyle Chauklin for the amazing comments :D! They really mean a lot. I love reading people's feedback. The ending for this chapter was slightly rushed and I know I have left you all on another cliff hanger, but the next chapter is where things really get interesting in many *ahem* different ways. I just didn't want to rush the process between these two characters. I see hopping into bed straight away as something that might not be entirely realistic considering Gelebor's noble disposition and it would make for one embarrassing experience for poor Iry xD But that might change in the next chapter... until then, thank you for reading!


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